


Merely an Affectation

by Lyowyn



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M, Slash, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:18:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyowyn/pseuds/Lyowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story in three parts about the trials and advantages of living with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merely an Affectation

I walked into the flat late one evening, having been away on a house call to an ailing patient to find Holmes had transformed our rooms into something resembling the inside of a wastepaper bin. This wasn't so far removed from the usual state of affairs to be unusual, but he had covered most of the furniture and floor with an assortment of graying linen. The man himself stood in the center of the room, a knife in hand, covered head to foot with splatters of some red substance that looked suspiciously like blood.

"What  _are_  you doing," I asked, in a tone that I thought was quite relaxed under the circumstances.

Holmes looked up, noticing me for the first time. "Oh, hello Watson. I was just conducting an experiment to see the effect of blood spatter patterns based off the angle of an attack."

"And what is that?" I asked.

"It's a water bladder full of pig's blood."

"Of course." I moved aside one of the sheets to sit on the settee. There was a moment of silence as Holmes made some notation in a ledger. " _Well_? Aren't you going to ask me where I've been?"

"Hardly necessary, Watson. The red clay on your trouser leg speaks for itself. You've been to Islington. You have your medical bag with you, so you've been to see a patient. The patient has not died, or you would have led with that, nor is he well, or you would have set aside the case to take a more active interest in what  _I_ am doing."

"And how do you know it was a male patient."

Holmes didn't even have the decency to look up from his ledger. "If it was a woman, you never would have worn that hat; it makes you look like a porter."

I took the hat off and angrily tossed it across the room onto Holmes' armchair. "Why yes Holmes," I said in a falsely pleasant tone. "Thank you for asking. I was away treating a patient in Islington. Sorry I didn't let you know that I was leaving, but his illness came on rather suddenly. It doesn't look good I'm afraid, but he should make it through the night. Do I need someone to talk to about it? Well, now that you mention it, yes, I suppose I am a bit upset. Thank you for being such a considerate friend."

"Watson, you're prattling." Holmes took up his knife again and began stabbing the bladder. Pig's blood shot out from the bag and splashed across his waistcoat and shirtsleeve.

"You've ruined that suit, you know," I told him indifferently. "Don't even bother trying to take it to the cleaners."

"The matter is inconsequential. I'm on the verge of a breakthrough in our case."

" _Our_  case. What do you mean  _our_ case? Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I've been gone for three days. I wasn't here to take any case."

"It doesn't matter. Scotland Yard assumes that we come as a set. They take it for granted that you'll be around to keep an eye on me." Holmes set his knife down to make another notation and sketch the pattern of the blood spatter on the linen sheet beneath his feet. Looking at what happens when Holmes doesn't have someone to keep an eye on him, I wonder if it's really all that wise to leave him unattended. "I have it solved anyway. There's no need to trouble yourself. Based off the blood spatter, the maid was too short to have committed the murder. The killer was much taller. All evidence points to the household cook. I'll have to make another inspection of the kitchen, but I'm almost sure it was the cook."

"That's nice, Holmes." I pulled my legs up onto the settee and let my eyes flutter closed. "I have to say, I'm impressed that you actually took the precaution of putting down linen to protect the furniture before you started covering our flat in pig's blood."

"It's not to protect the furniture. I was having trouble discerning the blood from the pattern on the carpet at a distance. It's much easier to see on the white background."

My eyes flew open. "Please do not tell me that there is blood spilled all over our rug."

"As you wish."

"Holmes," I demanded. "Is there blood spilled all over our rug?"

"You just asked me not to tell you that there was." Holmes selected a fresh water bladder from a small pile on the sideboard and replaced the one that he'd already pierced. He tossed it aside onto the nearest free surface- which just happened to be my desk. It landed atop a pile of my papers with a wet squelching noise and oozed out a trickle of pig's blood.

I shut my eyes tight and tried to rein in my temper. It had been a long tiresome few days, and I was not prepared to deal with such a trying display of my roommate's usual lack of consideration.

"I'm going to bed," I said finally, deciding that the welcoming embrace of sleep would be preferable to dealing with Holmes in my current mood. I left him to his experiment and went to my bedroom, changed into my dressing gown and made to climb into bed, only to find my bed stripped of all its linens.

oOoOoOo

"Dr. Watson?"

I looked up to see Mrs. Hudson standing in the doorway with a tea tray. I hadn't requested any tea. "If Holmes asked for that, I'm sorry to tell you that he's gone down to the club."

"No, I came to ask for your opinion on something."

" _My_  opinion? I'm sure Holmes will be back soon, if you need advice, he's much more-"

"No," Mrs. Hudson quickly dismissed. "Mr. Holmes is a brilliant man, but this particular problem is of a more personal nature. I've always trusted your insight into matters of the heart. I'm afraid that Mr. Holmes doesn't have the finesse to help with this problem."

"Well, please then, by all means. Sit down." I took the tray from her and gestured for her to take a seat at the table. I poured her a cup of tea and then made one for myself. "Please, tell me what seems to be the problem."

She spoke quickly, giving over all the details of her complicated predicament. She was just finishing her story when Holmes returned from the club.

He glanced between the two of us and the tea cups, calculating, and then frowned. "To what do we owe the honor of a visit from our esteemed landlady? It can't be for any of the usual reasons. The sour look is missing from your faces, so you can't have been complaining about me." He approached gesturing first at Mrs. Hudson's face, "No. I see worry." He turned to me, gesturing with his finger only inches from my skin at the lines on my forehead, mouth, and the set of my jaw. "And, there's concern from Watson."

I glared at him.

"Ah," Holmes smiled, "there it is: irritation."

"If you wouldn't mind, Mrs. Hudson was asking my opinion on a personal matter, I'd appreciate a few minutes of privacy."

"She wants  _your_ opinion?"

"Yes, is that so hard to believe?"

"Forgive me, I must be mistaken, but I thought that it was  _I_ who had the consulting detective business and  _you_ who assisted on occasion, but obviously it's the other way around. Next time Lastrade comes by I'll just send him your way, shall I?"

"Perhaps two opinions would be better than one," Mrs. Hudson relented, likely more to soothe Holmes' ego than out of any desire to hear what the man had to say. For all that Holmes rarely took public credit for his cases he did have an ego the size of a small planet.

Holmes took a seat in the other chair and poured himself a cup of tea. "Please, Mrs. Hudson, from the beginning if you will."

"A friend of mine, Mrs. Everly, is having trouble with her husband. She turned to me for advice, but I didn't know what to tell her, so I said that I would think it over and get back to her in a few days. Well, that was nearly a week ago now, and I still don't know what to tell her, so I came to ask Dr. Watson what he thought."

Holmes waved off this detail. "And, pray tell, what is Mrs. Everly's problem with her husband?"

"She suspects he's taken up with a man who lives across the street."

"Taken up with? You mean…"

"Yes."

"And does she have any evidence to support this suspicion?"

"Well," Mrs. Hudson took a sip of her tea. "She says that he hasn't been fulfilling his marital obligations in quite some time, he's gone with the neighbor at all hours, sometimes not returning all night, and he has the affectations."

"Affectations?"

"Oh, you know," she said, gesturing to Holmes as if he displayed them himself, "the green carnation in the buttonhole or the red silk tie. Really, they have to be stupid to think that people don't notice."

"This is the neighbor, or your friend's husband?" Holmes inquired.

"The neighbor, but she found a pressed carnation in Mr. Everly's wallet last week."

Holmes was silent for a moment as he considered, then his features lightened and he casually drank his tea. "It's a clear enough solution. Your friend has suitable grounds for a divorce and claim to an ample alimony in light of the provocation."

"But she doesn't  _want_  a divorce," Mrs. Hudson told him. "She loves him. Mrs. Everly merely wants to put an end to the indiscretion without causing further problems."

"Ah, I see," Holmes was quiet for a moment, and then he rose from his seat. "It seems you were quite right to engage Watson's services. The inner workings of the female brain will always be a mystery to me."

oOoOoOo

"What is that?" I asked, pointing to the green carnation pinned to Holmes' lapel.

"According to Mrs. Hudson, it's merely an affectation."

"But you know what it means?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Watson." He unpinned the unassuming flower and set it gingerly on his desk. "I was only curious."

I slammed my book shut and gave him the full force of my attention. "Curious? Curious about what exactly?"

"It's nothing, Watson."

"I wouldn't call it nothing if you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting."

"You are suggesting. I didn't  _suggest_  anything."

"Then what?"

"I told you, I was curious. I wanted to see if Mrs. Hudson's assertions proved true."

"About her friend's husband?"

"No, about the flower. It's not the sort of thing to escape my notice, but she seems to be right. I was approached by a young man similarly ornamented." Holmes let his fingers drag over the petals of the flower where it sat on the table. "It was a most intriguing experience."

"How do you mean?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Holmes glanced up at me, almost as though he'd just remembered I was there. He scooped up the flower and tossed it into a desk drawer, closing it with force. "It's nothing, Watson, really. As I said, I was just curious."

"As your physician and your friend," I prefaced tersely, "I would recommend against further explorations of your curiosity on that subject."

Holmes sighed and pinched the bridge of his considerable nose. "And what  _would_  you suggest, Watson? Should I let important details like that go unnoticed in an investigation because the researching of those details makes you uncomfortable?"

"I would suggest that you don't take such a first-hand approach," I ground out.

Holmes crossed the room to his armchair and lit a pipe before he took a seat. "I don't see what difference it makes. It's not as though I brought the young man home with me."

"Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but various members of Scotland Yard routinely drop by unannounced. What do you suppose would have happened if Lestrade had come by with a case and found you wearing  _that_  on your lapel?"

"I think that you're overreacting," he said, drawing off his pipe.

"Do you? You don't think that they would consider two middle-aged bachelors living together and come to certain conclusions?"

" _I'm_ a bachelor. You're a widower."

"That won't matter," I told him. "They'll take one look at your ridiculous  _affectation_  and come to the obvious conclusion."

"So you're just worried that Scotland Yard will think that we're homosexuals?"

I bit my lip to keep from snapping at him and walked out of the room. The truth was, I wasn't worried that they would  _think_  we were homosexuals. I was worried that they would find out. Not Holmes of course, as far as I could tell, the man had no sexual desires at all. But, prior to my marriage, I'd had a rather close call with Lestrade and a rent boy while Holmes had been away visiting his brother. I went to my room and closed the door behind me.

Holmes was there a moment later, knocking softly. "Watson, please, I don't understand why you're so upset."

"Go away, Sherlock," I said, quiet enough that I wasn't sure if he heard me or not. I still wasn't sure when he opened the door and walked in. I was leaning against the bed frame, and I didn't meet his eyes at first, but when I did I saw a look of uncertainty as rare on his face as water in the desert.

"John, please, don't be angry. I won't do it again if it makes you this upset."

I met his eyes for a long moment and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry. You're right. I'm overreacting. It's just…" I trailed off, not sure what I was trying to say.

He reached his hand up and put it on my shoulder, near my neck. My breath hitched in my throat, and my heart beat a little faster. I was sure he noticed.

"Watson," he said in a low whisper.

"Yes?"

"Your pupils are dilated."

Before I could make some kind of response, he leaned forward and kissed me. The kiss was slow, Holmes' technique flawless, though, where he could have learned to kiss, I couldn't imagine. When I couldn't summon up the good sense and presence of mind to push him away, he pulled me closer and deepened the kiss.

If Lestrade had walked in at that moment, he would have laid witness to something far more incriminating than a green carnation.

When the kiss ended, a moment or an eternity later, Holmes favored me with a smile. "See there, I've solved the mystery of why Watson was so upset about a flower."

"Holmes, I…"

He pressed his finger to my mouth to keep me from continuing and gave me a patronizing look. "Please," he said, "lie to Lestrade all you want, but there is no need to keep things from  _me_. We've both avoided the truth long enough, and it's time we stopped fooling ourselves." He smiled at my reaction of surprise. "Now, I think that it's time to turn in for the evening so that I may continue my research in the privacy of my own home."

He left the room to go turn down the lamps, and I stood there stunned until he returned and showed me that kissing was not his only hidden talent.

 


End file.
